Calm Before the Storm
by Sinnocence.Net
Summary: The gang, now in college, find themselves dealing with personal tragedies in their lives. With them in separate parts of the States, can they be brought back together to help each other in their times of need?
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** _Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have finally mustered up enough typed pages of Zoey 101 goodness to share with all of you loving, loving people. ...Isn't it GREAT?! Okay, so tell the truth: Didja miss meh? XD All right, all right. I'll move onward. Well, here's a brand, spanking new chapter ficcie for your reading pleasure! I was approached by Boris Yeltsin a few weeks ago with a certain request in mind, so I complied and here is the end result! Just so you know, it's kinda heavy. If you don't like to read about drug usage, innuendos of sexual intercourse, death, violence, or if you're easily offended by swear words, this fic is NOT for you. Press your back button and get outta here! Do whatever it takes, but do NOT leave a nasty review. Because I will haunt you in your sleep. ...Or something. ANYWAY, read on, good people!_

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**PROLOGUE**

**3:23 pm - Pacific Standard Time**

Cancer. It was nothing but a mere word, just like any other in the English language. It contained six letters and had two syllables. But that was never what was most important. No. Its connotation is more devastating that the word itself. Because along with cancer came the anguish, the confusion, and of course, the endless tears.

Feeling a strangely numbing sensation travel from the tips of her perfectly manicured nails to the paling cheeks of her expressionless face, Zoey Brooks subconsciously allowed her feet to slide out from under her. With a solid thud, her body met the hardwood floor of her empty apartment and searched for support in the nearest wall.

Her vision began to blur, the tears flooding her hazel eyes threatening to spill over. Zoey put her head, which was throbbing with the ache of too much information between her drawn up knees and willed herself to stay strong. Because that's what Zoey Brooks does. Stay strong, no matter what.

However, the telephone began to emit a high-pitched beeping, signaling that it should be hung up rather quickly. Zoey surprisingly found that it was still firmly located in her left hand, the spiraling cord wrapped around the length of her arm. She dumbly stared at the receiver, recalling its last painful conversation:

"_Hello?" she nonchalantly answered, balancing the phone receiver against a shoulder. After several seconds, Zoey furrowed her eyebrows at the lack of a response. "Hello? Is anyone there?" _

"_Zoey?" a choked voice finally sounded. "It's me, Dad." _

"_Dad?" she asked, sensing a problem. "What's going on? What happened?" Zoey knew she had yet to attend her final class of the day within thirty minutes, but at the tone of his voice, all thoughts of UCLA flew right out of her mind._

"_You…might wanna sit down for this, sweetie," he answered, using an old and childish nickname. "I have some bad news; it's about your mother." _

_Zoey tread carefully around the subject, knowing that his news couldn't possibly be about—"Mom? Is she okay? She's fine, right?" Her pulse immediately quickened and she felt her heart beat at a pace that definitely wasn't normal. _

"_Not exactly, Zo," her father slowly replied, almost fidgeting with nervousness. "It's back. The cancer's back." He deeply exhaled, anticipating her reaction, but as she remained deadly silent, he began with, "I know that the doctor said she would be okay, that it was nothing, but…" _

"…_Mom's…sick? Again?" she asked, her voice strained with wretched emotion. "But… she was fine, healthy for so long…" _

"_I know, I know," he said, as if he had also thought of this a million times over. "Dr. Benson said that she had less than a fifty percent chance of this happening, but… it seems as if the odds were against her." _

_He continued to speak, babbling on as he always did when he felt extremely nervous and apprehensive, but Zoey could no longer hear him. All of a sudden, the blood pulsating throughout her body was the loudest and most audible noise, but throughout the constant pounding, she managed to catch her father's last words: "Zoey…? I-I guess I'll just talk to you soon. Take care. …I love you and Mom does, too."_

As the minutes passed by, each slower and more nerve-wracking than the previous, Zoey found the strength to lift her head and adjusted to the bright sunlight streaming through the apartment window. She was dimly aware of the tears that stained both her cheeks, but made no move to wipe them away.

Before another heart wrenching thought could penetrate her mind, Zoey clumsily untangled herself from the phone cord and blindly fumbled for the wooden stand above her. At long last, the phone was back in its cradle and all was silent once more.

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**The OTHER Author's Note: **_Yes, that was probably the shortest submission ever posted on this archive, but whatever! It's a prologue, people. They're supposed to short and mysterious and... I dunno, prologue-ish. Leave a review and make sure to stay tuned, my lovelies! _

_-Sin_


	2. Three Years Later

**Author's Note: **_Why, hello there! You're probably here to read this next chapter! ... Well, go ahead. I have nothing to say here. Lol. _

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**THREE YEARS LATER...  
**

**4:17 pm - Pacific Standard Time**

Judging by the equipment's large patches of rust and thick layer of dirt and debris, the factory had definitely not been used in several years. As the young woman strode through the piles of dangerously stacked pallets that were messily arranged across the building's cement flooring, she couldn't help but notice the silvery beams of moonlight streaming through the small windows placed high above the ground.

Despite her foreboding misgivings, she boldly strode forward and switched her flashlight on, moving its light directly ahead. "Where are you, Derrick?" she called, wondering if he had somehow deserted her.

But his voice finally came. "Here. In the corner." His tennis shoes scraped against the filth as he stood and finally came into view. "But I don't think you should come any closer. Just go, Amy."

Feeling intensely angered, not to mention offended, she did the exact opposite and charged forward, approaching him with flaring enthusiasm. "I don't think so. You're not getting rid of me _that_ easily. Whatever's here is going to get their ass kicked!"

"You can't fight this," he fiercely responded. "Why do you think it's _your_ job to save everyone? Leave! Before you get hurt," Derrick commanded, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder.

"No!" she shouted with just as much ferocity. "I am going to stay here… even if it _is_ the end." Amy gave him a meaningful look, wanting to say so much more. However, they had more pressing issues at hand.

For the eerily constant quiet of the abandoned factory was punctured, wretched howlings and disgusting squelches sounding from the nearest corner. The creature, whatever it was, seemed to be hatching, awakening and it wasn't particularly pleased.

"Oh… My… God…" Amy breathed, slowly backing away from the beast.

"I told you," Derrick grimly voiced, his stomach feeling rather weak. "Get _out_ of here already!"

"No! I'm not leaving you!" she stubbornly replied, reaching out and pulling him backwards.

Derrick wrenched his arm out of her grasp. "Forget about me! Just GO!" He frantically gestured to the door across the room as it sensed both of their presences and slowly crept forward, snarling with viciousness.

Amy met his eyes and knowing that there was no time but the present, she shakily said, "I love you."

He met her passionate stare and tried not to allow his fear to show through as he said, "I love you, t—"

"CUT!" Logan Reese shifted in his seat as he angrily shouted across the room, much to the dismay of the crew. "I thought we decided to take out this romance crap!" He impatiently stood up and removed the large headphones loosely hanging around his neck.

"But Mr. Reese!" a consulting producer objected. "This scene is exactly what the movie needs! The audience will be drawn in to the romance between Derrick and Amy." He gestured towards the two actors, now talking quietly to each other. "Romance is key in a storyline such as this one."

"Forget romance!" Logan argued, waving his hands about. "This movie is about space aliens hatching on Earth! Who needs that lame subplot floating around? Besides, this is _my_ movie and I say that we cut it." He resolutely crossed his arms, daring for the producer to retaliate. However—

"Forget romance, eh?" a familiar voice sounded from directly behind him, causing Logan to reverse himself with a start. And standing amongst the set's several systems of equipment was his beautiful and longtime girlfriend, the one and only Quinn Pensky.

Logan's mood immediately changed and he strode forward, a goofy smile spreading across his face. "Quinn, what're you doing here?" But before she could answer, he captured her lips in a lengthy kiss, earning several catcalls and whistles from his co-workers.

Several seconds later as they parted, Quinn embarrassingly so, she modestly said, "You shouldn't do that in front of people you work with, Logan. Doesn't the press have enough to write about without you jumping me _on set_?" She sent several apologetic looks to the rest of the crew surrounding them.

"Let the press talk," he casually dismissed. "They're just jealous of how amazingly hot you always look" Logan's eyes finally left hers as he admired her form-fitting and rather stylish pant suit. "Speaking of which…" he trailed off, kissing her once again.

But Quinn pulled away from him, her expression concerned. "Hey, are you feeling okay?"

He raised his eyebrows and noncommittally shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Why?"

"Your heart rate," she murmured, eyeing his chest. "It's incredibly rapid, not a normal speed. Are you sure you feel all right?" She reached out and lightly placed a hand on his forehead. "Oh, and you're burning up, too!"

Logan gave a careless laugh and gently removed her hand. "Quinn, I'm fine. It's probably just from working on this film. Everyone's driving me nuts! Listen, you don't think that a lame romance should be added into an action-packed science fiction movie, do you?"

Her distracted expression cleared as she giggled and replied, "God, I hope not. Strangely shaped, inhuman beings making out on planet Mars? Somehow, I don't think your viewers would enjoy that."

Relentlessly smirking, he said, "You know what I mean, Pensky…" and gave her a slight tickle in the ribs, to which she immediately started. "But anyway, what are you doing here? Finish up early?"

Quinn titled her head, her brown waves of hair moving with her. "No, I just took off. Rosemary didn't really need me anyway. She was practically rushing me out the door."

"You're the head of the research department at the California Institute for Human Science," Logan stated, furrowing his eyebrows, "and they _didn't_ need you?"

She gave a quick shrug and said, "Personally, I suspect Rosemary shooed me off for her own reasons. She probably didn't want anyone to be around when she was meeting with Dr. Caldwell in the lab again…" At Logan's horrified expression, Quinn broke into a wide grin. "And you think _your_ co-workers are insane."

After giving a quick shudder, he said, "So, filming is gonna wrap up in a few hours. Wanna go out for dinner tonight? Just name a place, any place." He gave a cocky grin, knowing that his celebrity status could get them into any five-star restaurant in Beverly Hills without so much as a reservation.

"Actually," Quinn suggestively began, her eyes sparkling with mad delight, "I was wondering if we could stay at home tonight, just the two of us." She raised her temping gaze to meet his eyes and knew that her unmistakable tone would be enough for Logan to change their dinner plans.

He furiously nodded, hastily agreeing. "Yes, yes. Totally. Um, yeah. I'll see you tonight. Seven-thirty. You wanna hang out 'round here a little though? I'll make it worth your while…" Logan smiled his irresistible smile, but Quinn was stronger, and also smarter than his good looks and charms.

"I don't think you should be distracted right now, babe. Billie over there looks like he's about to take you out," Quinn commented, gesturing towards one of the sound technicians. "Besides, I have to go and make myself worth _your_ while tonight." With that, she gave one last lingering kiss and turned, heading for exit and waving goodbye to several crew members.

Logan sighed, happily watching her retreating figure and desperately wishing that his work day was ultimately over. Though that was basically impossible, he could not resist the urge to call a twenty-minute break. As he headed towards his office, he heard several snatches of conversations, most of them including: "Don'tcha love it when Quinn visits? Reese totally looses his edge!"

He quietly let himself into his office, a rather small room that was not quite up to his usual standards, but it would do for the time being nonetheless. Taking a seat at his rather lush armchair, Logan allowed himself to close his painfully dry eyes, hoping for the aching to stop sometime soon.

He nervously cracked his knuckles, swiveling around to close the plastic blinds of the large window directly behind him. At the sudden darkness, Logan felt a sudden release of tension that had been apprehensively growing ever since Quinn had voiced her alarm at his strange signs of health. _That was too close,_ he thought, completely aware that his nose was incessantly bothering him, itching and also very dry. _I have to stop. She can't find out,_ Logan mentally told himself, knowing that this was always what he said right before he started up again.

Eying a certain drawer of the desk before him, Logan ignored all that was right, and all that was clean as he unlocked it with a personal key. Cleverly stashed among the several files of certain actors, actresses, films, and talent agents was a small, plastic bag. He desperately grabbed at it, making sure to get a hold of a small razor as well.

Logan carefully dumped the contents upon the wooden surface of his desk, firmly thinking, _This is gonna be the last time._ He skillfully separated the fine, white powder into straight rows and after doing so, pocketed the small, silver blade. _Here it goes._ He roughly moved his chair backwards in order to gain enough leverage and cautiously leaned forward, now inches away from the cocaine.

For the millionth time it seemed, Logan's brain was protesting, screaming at him to stop, that this wasn't right. But at that moment, his body was positively tingling at the adrenaline rush and he simply pushed his loud and demanding thoughts aside as he slowly inhaled the drug. And for the millionth time, he felt the familiar rush of his distorted senses, the temporary relief of his flaming nostrils. He moved on to another line, never wanting the feeling to stop.

--

**12:10 pm – Eastern Standard Time **

The street was insanely busy, as per usual. Several groups of people, most of them in rather dressy attire, impatiently waited at the corner, mentally urging the small, red man to become green. A certain couple stood out in particular, mostly because of the silly grins plastered on their faces instead of the grim frowns of the businessmen surrounding them.

"Well, Lil Lisa," Michael began, slinging an arm around her shoulders, "did you ever think we'd make it here? The Big Apple?"

She laughed, leaning herself into him. "Michael, we've been here for three years now. New York just looks different when things are amazingly going your way."

"We have finally made it," he said, happily sighing. "Watch out, NYC! Here comes Michael Barret and Lisa Perkins!" He raised his eyes to the sky above and could almost envision their names in bright lights, towering above the city.

"Michael, people are starting to stare," Lisa warned, smiling at his boyish enthusiasm nonetheless. "Besides, it's only a meeting with the label manager. He might not like my style and could change his mind right on the spot!"

"Lisa, _everyone_ loves your style," Michael reassured, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. "Ooh, the little man turned green!" He pulled the both of them forward and they safely crossed the street, cars of several shapes and sizes on either side of them. "Mr. McCoy will _love_ you, just like Lana said and we'll be very happy and start dancing in the streets when your new album hits stores!"

"Okay, you are being a little far-fetched," Lisa said, wrapping an arm around his waist. "But it's so nice to think about, isn't it? And how about that talent agent? He loved you, right?"

"Yup," he answered, positively bouncing with excitement. "He still wants to see me perform one more time tonight at another club. But I'm gonna be _so_ drippin', Joel won't even know what hit him!" He smiled down upon his girlfriend, loving the way she felt in his arms, and that particularly lovely shade of a golden yellow she was currently wearing; it just seemed to suit their merry moods.

Michael then steered Lisa into one of their favorite restaurants, ready to indulge himself into a monstrous Philly Cheese Steak sandwich, several crinkle-cut French fries, and a large soda. Despite the afternoon rush, a waitress seated them almost immediately at a small booth nearest the expansive windows. She handed them the plastic menus and politely left after taking their drink orders.

Deep brown eyes scanning the several choices, Lisa absentmindedly asked, "So, where are you performing tonight? I wanna see you." She raised her head and leaned a cheek on her right hand, hardly believing their good fortune.

Michael excitedly met her gaze, still managing to fiddle around with the salt and pepper shakers. "My set's going down at Diamond Dollz, that club a few blocks over? I'm sure that after the first few minutes, I'll have 'em rolling on the floor! You've heard my new material, right?" But Lisa was no longer smiling. In fact, her eyebrows were skeptically raised, which caused him to ask, "What's wrong?"

"_Diamond Dollz?_" Lisa disgustingly echoed. "Michael, you can't be serious! Don't you realize what kind of place that is?" She crossed her arms and leaned backwards in her seat, expectant.

"Lisa, it's just a bar," Michael reasoned, not seeing the problem. "People go there to relax, drink a little, and listen to some comedy acts. That's why I'm there, remember? I'm comedy guy!"

"That may be," she curtly said, wrinkling her nose, "but have you _seen_ the girls in that bar? They barely have enough clothes to cover their own bodies! It's repulsive and extremely disrespectful to other women!"

Michael uncomfortably shifted in seat, finally piecing the situation together. "Well…maybe, but does it really matter? Joel wanted me to perform there, so I have to! What else am I supposed to do?"

"How about _not_ _perform_ there?" Lisa angrily suggested, unable to see why Michael wasn't as outraged. "Call Joel and ask him to see if he can book you anywhere else! There's gotta be a more decent club around here somewhere."

"I can't do that, Lisa," Michael immediately objected. "This gig has been booked for a week! The club's expecting me and so is Joel. It's just this one time. Can't you understand?"

"No, I can't," she retorted, eyes aflame. "All I understand right now is that you've willing to sacrifice your dignity to perform in a tasteless club to get your way to the top! Can't _you_ see how awful that is?"

"But it's not like I'm there for the girls!" Michael honestly told her. "It's just _one_ gig, and yeah! It could probably boost my career right now… Or do you not want that? Is that why you're having a problem with this?"

Lisa was rendered speechless, her mouth slightly agape. "Ex_cuse_ me? What are you trying to imply here, Michael?"

By this time, the two of them had captured the attention of the several attendants of the café with their argument, which was increasing in volume with every passing second. People nervously glanced at one another and then back at the booth, wondering what was to happen next. Unfortunately, the waitress had returned and was not fully aware of their disagreement.

"So, are we ready to order?" she asked, her voice chipper and a pen poised above her small pad of paper. However, she was positively startled at Michael's booming voice.

"I think you know what I'm implying here, Lisa," he scathingly answered. "You don't want me to succeed, do you? You don't think I can make it as a comedian and you're trying to ruin my chances by not wanting me to perform at that club!"

"Okay, you are _way _out of line!" Lisa told him, feeling rather upset. "Michael, have you not been listening to a word I've been saying? Of course I want you to succeed! But this isn't about that at all."

"Oh, I _beg_ to differ," Michael retorted, his anger quickly rising within him. "If you don't support me, why should I support you? I've been next to you all these years, _knowing_ that your singing career would take off someday." He gave her a meaningful look, his eyes obviously shining with hurt. "But now I know you never did the same for me, Lisa."

The waitress, whose plastic nametag read "Kate," slowly backed away, blowing a rush of air upwards and ruffling her blonde hairs. She gathered the drinks she had set down on a nearby table and retreated to the kitchen, taking a sip of Michael's Coke.

"Michael, this is ridiculous," Lisa said, shaking her head. "You know that you're just turning our problem into something completely different." She resolutely stood, seizing her purse as well. "I'm leaving. When you're feeling more mature, give me a call."

Part of Michael wanted to rush after her, apologize for his insecurity and make things right again between them. However, the other part, the raging Michael, sulkily remained in his seat as he watched Lisa exit the café, dark hair flying. Allowing himself to flicker his gaze to the window, he easily spotted her through the crowd of people in the street. The yellow blouse was unmistakable in the boring drab of business suits.

Knowing that the fault was clearly his, Michael put his head in between his hands and mentally cursed his stupidity. _Lisa's right. I shouldn't have to perform in such a dodgy place to get my career going. Man, I have to go after her!_ He scooted himself out of the booth and immediately noticed that the entirety of the small restaurant was staring at him, eyes glaringly fixated.

"Show's over, people!" he accusingly shouted. "And you shouldn't have been listening anyway!" He indignantly stomped out the doors, turning his head every which way, trying to locate her once again. However, he was momentarily distracted as flash of dark blue rapidly passed before his vision and came to an extreme stop, but not before a loud crash sounded, accompanied with a sickening _thump!_

Several people had gathered in the street despite the oncoming traffic, horribly gasping at the accident. The driver of the dark blue Sedan stepped out of his vehicle, looking rather pale as he approached the crowd.

"What in the—?" Michael questioned, heart beating faster and faster as he too, moved forward, pushing people aside from left to right.

But the sight before him was just too much. He almost doubled over in pain, almost wretchedly screamed to the heavens above, almost allowed his salty tears to hopelessly fall. But he just couldn't bring himself to it. Because as soon as he saw the yellow blouse, Michael could no longer act, nor think. He could only stand back, ignoring the rushing pedestrians as the guilt and the pain slowly washed over him.

--

**5:34 pm – Eastern Standard Time **

Lola Martinez sighed at the sight before her and patiently straightened out the wrinkles in the red dress. "Babe, what do you think of this one?" She swirled away from the mirror and waited expectantly as the boy exhaustedly looked her up and down.

"It looks great, Lola," he immediately said, rising from his seat and kissing her on the forehead. "In fact, all of the thirty-seven dresses you've tried on before this one were just as great. But I really don't know what you're freaking out about." He turned her around and rested a hand on her shoulders, the other gesturing towards the mirror. "You look stunning in pretty much everything. What does it matter what you to wear to this _one_ premiere?"

"Vince!" she exasperatedly said, throwing her hands up. "I am the star of this movie! I have to look more stunning and more perfect than I ever have before! And if that means going through every single dress that I own, I will do it!" She began to unzip herself and rummage even further into her seemingly endless walk-in closet.

Vince followed her into the small and enclosed space, aiding her as she put the red gown away. "Well if I told you that you looked more stunning and more perfect than ever with just_ this_ on, could we go and watch my game highlights?" He suggestively tugged at the thin strap of her lacy, pink bra and trailed his fingers downward to her lower back, barely brushing against the matching panties, causing Lola to smile bashfully.

"Mmm," she thoughtfully said, turning around to face him, "Perhaps… But only if you let me do this first." She sweetly kissed him, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and gently forcing him out of the closet and into the open space of their bedroom once more.

He reveled in her soft touch and kissed her back with just as much passion, slowly edging towards the bed. "You know, we haven't even had dinner yet," he murmured between kisses.

"Oh, to hell with dinner," Lola returned, playfully nipping at his lip. "Who needs food anyway?" She broke their embrace and placed herself atop the white comforter, propped up by her elbows and legs daintily crossed. "Wouldn't you rather—?" Lola broke herself with a devilish smile.

Vince shook his head at her invitation, laughing to himself. "Oh, you know I'd always rather," he said, seating himself upon the mattress and eagerly capturing her lips once more.

She giggled against the close contact and allowed him to slowly leave a light trail of kisses down her neck. However unlike the past few nights, she couldn't allow his breathtaking touch to shake her feeling of uneasiness. "Vince?" she regrettably interrupted. "I… think I have something to tell you. And it's kind of important." Lola straightened herself against the wooden headboard, trying to escape his last kiss.

"Hm, what is it?" he asked, still not altogether listening. In fact, he was currently nuzzled in the crook of her neck, gently brushing her dark locks away.

Lola hesitated, trying to ignore the strong want to just forget her objection and move on. "I… Vince! You're not paying attention to me!" She abruptly moved away from him, crossing her arms. "Look, I have to tell you something and you have to actually be listening. That's how this talking thing works between people."

He sighed, not bothering to point out that she had been mostly responsible for leading him on the first place. "Okay. Talk to me. What is it?" Vince swung his legs onto the mattress and leaned forward, genuinely attentive at last.

Uncertain of how to start off, Lola bit her bottom lip. "Well… Do you remember—?"

But the doorbell unexpectedly sounded, interrupting her question. Vince reassuringly smiled at her as he lifted himself from the bed. "I'll get it, but hey, we'll talk later, all right?" He paused at the doorway, awaiting her reaction.

Lola merely nodded, wondering if she should be thanking the doorbell, or cursing it. And as she watched Vince disappear down the narrow hallway and towards the front door, she began to breathe more easily, putting her hand to her chest. Overhearing a rather bombastic welcoming, Lola stood and decided to dress herself, pulling on a pair of blue jeans and a simple tank top.

Before she left the bedroom, she unhappily glanced at her reflection in the mirror and noticed a certain worry in her eyes. Lola determinedly shook the emotion away, thinking, _I am an actress. I can pull it off… for a few more hours anyway. And then I'll tell him._ She gave a renewed smile, both bright and confident.

However as she strode from the bedroom to the living room, the smile slowly evaporated at the sight of the present company. There was a young couple situated at the front of the partially open door, both dressed in large amounts of black.

The man stood in a defiant position, his head cocked slightly upward and his eyes concealed behind dark aviator sunglasses. He held a lit cigarette in hand, the ashes carelessly dropping onto the carpet. The woman was firmly attached to him, their leather jacketed arms linked together. She eyed Lola with familiar distaste and cast her heavily darkened eyes elsewhere, no doubt chewing a thick wad of bubblegum.

"Vince?" Lola asked, flicking her gaze to him. "What's going on? Why are they here?" She pointedly smiled at him, knowing that he sensed the tension between the four of them.

"Well, baby," he nervously began. "Johnny here, wanted to stop by and hang out. Is it all right if he eats with us tonight?" He gave her a pleading look, gesturing with his hands behind the man's back.

"And I suppose Rebecca is going to be joining us as well?" Lola coldly questioned, indicating the woman with a slight tilt of her head.

"Believe me, Lola," the woman spoke, brushing her dark and flowing hair over a shoulder. "I'm not particularly thrilled about this either." She shifted a motorcycle helmet from one hand to another and gave a defiant stare.

"Now, Becca," Johnny warningly said, moving his hand to grasp her shoulders, "Play nice. Vince and I are gonna go…" He flicked his eyes towards Lola, "talk. In the other room. Be good, all right?"

Rebecca's unpleasant expression softened immediately and she leaned forward, giving him a quick peck on the lips. However, Johnny forcefully seized her by the waist, causing the kiss to last much longer than was planned. Lola stuck a finger down her throat, making sure that Vince knew that this was _not_ okay before she reversed herself and headed towards the kitchen.

"Oh, he is _so_ in for it later," Lola muttered to herself, thrusting open the refrigerator door. "His old 'buddy' showing up without even bothering to call, bringing his trashy girlfriend, coming into our home…" She let the cool air of the refrigerator waft around her body, hoping that it would calm her. "Johnny Cook is a loser," she decisively announced to the empty room, pulling out a package of thawed meat.

"For such a seemingly perfect home life, you don't really come across to be all that happy," a voice suddenly said. "And you better watch it. That loser Johnny Cook? He's my boyfriend. And where do you get off calling me _trashy_?" Rebecca slowly entered the kitchen, eyes ablaze and hands on her hips.

"Maybe because you _are_," Lola shot back, taking notice of her drastic change in style. "Leather skirts? Fishnets? Blegh, talk about two years ago…" She turned away from Rebecca and proceeded to pull several vegetables from the bottom drawers of the refrigerator, hoping that she could still remember the cooking channel's phenomenal chicken stir-fry recipe.

"As if you're some kind of fashion queen goddess?" Rebecca snappishly asked, pulling at her bright red tank top. "Just because you land _one_ starring movie role, you think you rule New York City or something."

"Oh, do you ever stop talking?" Lola groaned, quickly grabbing a knife from the rack and proceeding to slice the vegetables. "And news flash! At least I'm making something of myself. What are _you_ doing, Rebecca?"

"Hey, you shut your mouth, princess!" she bitingly retaliated. "You may be 'making something of yourself,' but at least I can say that I'm not extremely deluded by dreams of being a famously rich movie star!" Rebecca awaited Lola's oncoming insult, but the brunette had finally decided to allow a silence to lapse between them. Taking advantage of this, Rebecca shrugged her jacket off and kept it close as she gingerly took a seat at the island counter.

Lola watched her from the corner of her left eye, the knife slowing until it reached a complete stop. "What's wrong with you? Are you hurt or something?" Her tone of voice showed more concern than she would've normally liked.

"I'm fine," Rebecca immediately snapped. "Just a little sore, that's all. I fell." Her eyes made no contact with Lola. Instead, they gazed past her, intently studying the floral wallpaper.

"Right," Lola slowly replied. "Fell. Of course you did." She returned to her cooking and turned the sink faucet, lightly washing her hands and drying them on a nearby dish towel. "Why do you go out with Johnny, Rebecca?"

She sputtered, meeting Lola's eyes at last. "Excuse me? What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer it," Lola boldly commanded. "What do you see in him? He drinks, smokes… and I _know_ he's on drugs half the time. Plus, his hair is completely disgusting! Seriously, black, three-inch spikes sticking straight up? He's not even cute!"

Rebecca disbelievingly stared at her. "You know after all these years, I thought you might have gained some perspective, Lola. But, no. You're still the same, shallow aspiring actress I met at PCA."

"Okay, what does you insulting me have to do with Johnny?" Lola questioned, obviously not following her. "Make your point already."

She sighed, pulling an impatient hand through her hair. "My point is," she stressed, "that it doesn't matter that Johnny isn't _cute_ or that he drinks or smokes, or that he even does drugs! What matters is that he _cares_ about me! You wanna know how I know that?"

Lola put her hands in a surrendering motion. "By all means, enlighten me."

"The first time I met him was a year ago, on the streets. I had no money and no home. You wanna know what Johnny did? He gave me a home, gave me a job. He told me I wasn't worthless and that I should forget my past life because I was his now. And he's been taking care of me ever since. Whatever I need, he's always there and he never lets me down. I love him. Now is that enough of an answer for you, princess?"

Once again, an eerie quiet had descended upon them. Lola carefully sorted through Rebecca's explanation, wondering how to respond to her surprisingly deep and softening story. But before she could utter another word, a thunderous crash sounded from the next room, followed by countless and blending shouts.

The two women gave each other one frightened look before they dashed out of the kitchen and into the living room. There, they saw a rather distressed Vince Blake, attempting and failing to calm down his raging friend. However, Johnny wouldn't allow him to speak.

"You can't fucking tell me what to do, Vince!" Johnny bellowed, slamming his fist down upon a nearby table. "I'm a free man and I know what I'm doing! Think about that the next time you try and control me, you asshole." He muttered another string of profanities as he unsteadily made his way to the door, forcefully opening it and disappearing into the night without so much as a glance back.

Casting her eyes around her, Lola noticed that a rather expensive lamp lay in pieces at one corner of the room. Swallowing her fury, she broke the silence with: "Oh, yeah, Becca. He's a _real_ keeper." She gave a sideways glance toward the woman, but to her surprise, Lola did not find any hatred; there was only concern.

* * *

**The OTHER Author's Note: **_Phew! (wipes brow) That was the hardest chapter to write in the history of writing chapters. Well, it was for me, anyways. I just kept getting stuck... Blargh. Well, I hope you enjoyed this first installment. It's very different from my usual stuff, but all writers cross to the dark side every now and again, right? ...So, all of you reader peoples should go and review. It'd be the AWESOME thing to do. Besides, all of the cool kids are doing it nowadays. _

_-Sin_


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